Exploring the Remote Ishi Wilderness - A Connection to our Past

As per usual, when I have a very limited time off, I’d rather do a small adventure and exploration than none at all. This time I wanted to venture to a place I’d read about but never been to. The relatively quiet Ishi Wilderness is in my backyard, but I’ve never had the chance to explore it. I left Friday afternoon, after stocking up on food and water, and impulsively decided to do an overnight trip to Black Rock Campground, which sits on the northern end of the desolate Ishi Wilderness.

The story of Ishi is, in this writer’s humble opinions, one of the great local legends that cannot be told enough. Feel free to read the full story of Ishi here, but essentially Ishi is described as one of the last Native Americans to live the “majority of his life outside Euro-American culture.” He outlived his family, and watched as the world he knew and the homeland of the Yahi people was slowly encroached upon. In August of 1911, he emerged from the wilderness, much to the confusion to the settles near Oroville, and was reportedly arrested ‘for his own safety.’ He lived the rest of his life in a room in the Anthropological Museum at University of California at San Francisco, until he died from tuberculosis (having no built-up immunity to the diseases that the Euro-Americans brought along them). He was studied and marveled at, written about and recorded. His legacy lives on, and provides us with a tie to our not-so-distant past.

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I’ve only read one book on his life, and have never been to the namesake Wilderness. After driving the backroads, through a puzzle of different lands (National Forest, State Wildlife Area, Private Property, and National Wilderness), I drove up to Mill Creek Canyon. Since my day had started late, once again I found myself driving against the setting sun. I was hoping to gaze upon the landscape in the light, and after passing through one border of land ownership that had an unoccupied campsite, I checked my map and had to make a decision. Either stay, make camp here, and seek out to Black Rock in the morning or risk losing daylight and keep on keeping on - with the hope that I would see Black Rock while there was still some light.

Of course I chose the latter, and continued through on the windy and rocky road. With the sound of my audiobook keeping me company, I kept wondering about Black Rock.

I had chosen this destination for two reasons. There was a campground at its base, rumors of a waterfall, and a trailhead within close proximity. The trail followed Mill Creek, one of two main bodies of water in the Wilderness. (Also, after a little research I noted I’ve hiked along this particular stream before - Mill Creek Falls in Lassen National Park is indeed the very same Mill Creek that I was heading towards).

Finally, the road emerges from the forest and onto one of the sides of Mill Creek Valley. There is one wide spot, with volcanic rock sticking out from under the road in a location that is clearly often used as a picnic area. I stopped here to stretch my legs and catch the last glimpse of the sunset. Facing west, the pink and orange hazy glow was picturesque. I looked east, following the route of the road with my eyes, and was then I saw it - Black Rock.

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On the drive up, I kept wondering how I would identify which rocky outcropping was the Black Rock. Now, it was clear. It sat at the base of Mill Creek Valley, defying the rest of the natural contours of the area. Where the two opposing slopes of the canyon dropped in elevation to meet at the creek, Black Rock juts upwards, proud and stout. Mill Creek winds around the rock, and the campground sits near the base. If the Black Rock were in another setting, it might not feel as dramatic. However from this viewpoint, after a bouncing ride and not seeing another human for an hour and a half, Black Rock was positively majestic. The last light of the day basked it in warm light, and I knew that I was looking at a sight that generations of humans had gazed upon. This Rock, this landmark, was tying me to the past in a way I could feel.

I returned to my car, excited to know that my campground was near. I followed the road down the sloping sides of the canyon, and as a full darkness descended. There were times when I slowed my car to a crawl to navigate the rocky road, but eventually I pulled into the campground (unmarked by signs, but clearly marked by the landscape). I spied a relatively secluded site, and parked to claim it.

Laying claim to this site proved unnecessary. With my headlamp, I walked around the campsite and found I was utterly alone. This thought proved to be both thrilling and - I have to admit - a little frightening. The rational part of my brain was thrilled for this is what I desired - an escape from crowds and from people. The irrational part of my brain activated my fight or flight response, imagining different threats that could loom in the wilderness, ranging from the realistic (bear) to less realistic (Jethro and his band of inbred and violent drug operation who maimed any individuals they perceived as trespassing). As the beam of my headlight scanned the empty and desolate campsite, innocuous objects seemed sinister. At one point, they illuminated what proved to give me my biggest fright - a pair of eyes about 20 feet from me. Again - the rational part of me thought it must be a small mammal, but the irrational swore they were the eyes of a mountain lion. Eventually, I headed back to my car. Because of the darkness, potential real or imaginary threats outside, and my general weariness, I decided that I would rather spend the night sleeping in my car. The backseats of my CRV fold down, and I made a comfortable little bed for the night.

The next morning, I found my surroundings had changed. At night, the area seemed sinister and wild. The next morning, however, I found I had gained company in the middle of the night. When I fell asleep I was the only one in the area. However, in the middle of the night, around midnight actually, four vehicles had caravanned in and set up camp. Five tents now occupied the open camping area off to the west of where I spent the night. I met two of the inhabitants and their four-legged companion, and they seemed pleasant and chipper. To be honest, I think they were as surprised to see me as I was to see them. Still, it gave the area a more jovial feel.

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I was eager to explore more of the Black Rock area. I walked with a small backpack up Mill Creek to where it wrapped around the base of the rock. On this side of the rock, closer to the campground and main road, a large pool had been created over the ages and I made a mental note to come back and swim during the warmer months. In addition, where the creek bent around the rock, it created a series of rapids that made it sound like I was near a waterfall. Still, the only trail I found was on the wrong side of Mill Creek - I wanted to get closer to Black Rock, not further from it.

I hiked back and hopped in my car, driving and following the main road. It initially heads away from the area, but curves around the slope and ends up approaching Black Rock from behind, and an extra large bend in the road creates a de facto parking area. From this side, I was able to hike right up to the base and found a small cove. Due to the copious amounts of scat, I could tell that cattle had used this resting place for quite some time now. However, the perfect indent of the rock spoke to the fact that I’m sure for generations, animals of all color had used this as shelter from wind, storms, etc. I’m certain that many humans, too, used this secluded area and called it home. I sat in the shallow cove, wondering at the many times through history that humans from every age had stayed in this very spot. I wondered, too, if Ishi himself had been here and was certain that if he lived the majority of his life in this area, of course this location would have been well-known to him.

I explored the base of the rock more, but found that the crumbling volcanic rock did not make it suitable for climbing on or over. (Which probably is better for preserving the rock from humans, but less sturdy against nature). I walked along the hills in the upper Mill Creek Canyon, following trails that again most likely had been used by cattle most recently. Twice I found bear scat, but it looked so old that I did not feel any had been in the area recently. The sun was climbing in the sky now, and the cool of the night wore off and I found myself stripping off my outer layers.

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Much too soon, it was time to go home. I followed the same road out that I took in, and again stopped to marvel at the sweeping vistas of the canyon. From above, I would bet that Black Rock could almost be missed - it’s colors blending in to the landscape. From the ground, however, it stood as a proud landmark and a connection to the past. I remember reading how Ishi felt connected to this world - his homeland. I could almost feel that too, feel how easy it would be to disappear in these woods and fall in love with every inch of the landscape. As I drove out, I passed many cars and new that this place was no doubt discovered by modern humans. I would hope that they all treat it with the same reverence and continue to enjoy the beauty and starkness of the landscape. I can’t wait to come back.